


Glory Souls

by Ozymandi4s



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game), Dark Souls (Video Games)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Reader-Insert, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:15:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21672082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozymandi4s/pseuds/Ozymandi4s
Summary: I love myself, but I also hate myself.I love that I hate myself.I guess that makes me a masochist.Oh well, back to it then.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 66





	1. Dancer of the Boreal Valley

She was beautiful. 

That thought crossed your mind as you rolled to avoid the sword, nearly three times longer than you, slams into the ground, kicking up dirt and bits of stone. The edge of the blade glitters, wreathed in orange fire, the wielder of this colossal weapon letting out a bored sounding sigh, tiptoeing towards you, the clank of her boots echoing throughout the room, nothing within this cathedral save her. you, and the corpse of the weird old lady that repeated the exact same phrase, in the exact same tone, inflection and pitch whenever you got close to her.

You resisted to urge to shut her up, oh how you tried to contain your steadily growing annoyance at her incessant, broken record schtick for as long as you could, but it seems that this creature, this lanky, towering beauty, seemed just as fed up with the old lady as you were, for after the fiftieth utterance of her line, the woman was propelled across the room, cleaved in two by a sharp edge that passed through her flesh as though it was water. 

As grateful as you were for the Dancer's assistance, you soon found yourself preoccupied with other matters, namely the Dancer attempting to do to you what she did to Emma, each swing of her sword calculated and graceful, twirling, spinning and leaping like she weighed nothing, all the more shocking due to her being at least twenty feet or higher, the gossamer fabric that flowed down her back like a cape lending her an almost ghostly visage.

It was awe-inspiring, her every movement precise and flowing, moving at such speeds she seemed to become a blur of silver, blue and orange, looking less like she was trying to gut you like a fish and more like she was in a ballroom.

It then registers that this may be why she is called the Dancer, for indeed she was performing a ballet, a ballet of death and beauty. She huffs softly behind her silver helm, pivoting, suddenly behind you, and searing agony courses through your form, looking down to find the tip of her crooked sword jutting from your chest. 

Normally, this would horrify people, the fact that you were impaled on the blade of being that was twice the height of the tallest man, but for you, it was, if anything, annoying. 

She curls her fingers, covered in smooth, cold metal, around your legs, pulling them down while simultaneously yanking her sword upward, cleaving you from hip to shoulder.

The world goes black, your last sight being of her hovering over your body, like an angel of death.

When things return, you are sitting next to a small, crackling fire, to your left a path that leads upward to the cathedral, where the Dancer, a tad bit confused, watches your original body quickly crumble into a pile of ash. 

This was your curse, for every death, you shall return, with each defeat, you are reborn at the last fire you had kindled. And so, you march up the stone steps, pushing open the doors to find your killer curled in a ball in the center of the room, humming in the back of her throat as she rises, recognizing you, knowing who and what you are. 

The fight resumes, you last a bit longer, ducking and rolling. even managing to strike with your own sword, which bounces harmlessly off her armor, but the fact you manage to actually get within range to attack being nice regardless.

Still, she wins the second round, lifting you by the ankle before slamming you against the stone floor until you stop moving, the fifth or six smack ending with you disintegrating, The Dancer coughing as some of your remains dust get into her throat.

When you return for a third go, she realizes you are determined to beat her, but feeling a little cocky, she isn't as aggressive this time, which isn't saying much considering you are incapable of putting so much as a scratch on her armor, even when she just stands there, giggling softly as you pull the muscles in your arms from how hard you wail upon her. 

She reaches down and pokes you with one finger. Perhaps it was meant to be playful, if you were as big as her it might have been, but you weren't, so this light tap results in you being flung across the room, tumbling and wheezing, unable to breathe, chest feeling as though it just got hit with a sledgehammer. 

The Dancer titters again, strutting over to your prone form, a swagger in her steps as she kneels by your side, her form taking up the entirety of your vision. Despite yourself, you manage a smile, teeth stained red as you aim a shaky finger at her head. "I'll get you one day." You say before you dissipate. 

For the fourth time, you return to face your nemesis, who bends her upper half in a bow you can't help but return, this battle being less intense, more playful, for when you clamber up her arm, she does not try to shake you off, just staring at you with an amused sound.

Your weapon is sheathed, you accepting that she could not be killed, The Dancer understanding that while you could, you'd always come back, so instead, you just sit there on her shoulder, her armor cold, like ice, the gentle inhale and exhale of her breath the only sound The Dancer makes, even as you reach out, laying a palm on the side of her helmet, the metal it had been forged from more frigid than a winter night, smooth and hard.

She, through her beloved ring, could feel your skin, years spent as an Outrider Knight having caused the armor to first become fused to her body, eventually becoming her skin, such gentle contact foreign to her, but nonetheless welcome. The Dancer purrs like a massive kitten, leaning her face, head alone larger than you, into your touch, the air she lets out making you shiver.

Her legs fold under her as she sits, you seated on her knee, seeking out the chinks in her armor, covered in a silken lapis blue material. You can feel the power in her limbs, knew from experience she could pull you apart with her bare hands if she so desired. 

The Dancer leans her back against a support pillar, letting you explore, deciding this may be a better alternative than fighting, one that you both might enjoy.

And enjoy it you do, loving how beautiful her appearance was, she liking how you, to the best of your abilities, were gently massaging her tender spots, getting bolder with each moment. 

Eventually, you decide to trail upward, reaching her chest, pausing, if only for a moment, when The Dancer gasps. You look up at her, she looks down at you, giving a nod.

Happy she was on board, you slip under her armor, hands seeking out and finding two lovely, soft mounds hidden under the metal, which deform and squish with each squeeze and tug you give them. 

Their owner groans behind her mask, the sound stirring a part of your body you'd almost forgotten you had, growing in intensity the more you toy with the Dancer's massive breasts, digging your fingers into the supple flesh, so caught up in this that when she shifts her weight it throws your off-balance.

She takes this moment to begin fiddling with various straps and clasps, working quickly to undo them, chest piece clattering to the ground, alongside your jaw, which drops once her tits are brought out to bare. Her flesh is a deep azure, limbs lanky yet muscular, pulled tautly over her frame, letting you see the muscles flex and coil with each movement, the chest, for so long confined by her armor, is at last freed, allowing her massive breasts to bounce and jiggle with her motions, the nipples, a light teal, are already erect.

She leans down, mashing her bosom together, inviting you to resume your touch, which you do with renewed eagerness, pressing both hands into the cool flesh, mouth latching on to one teat and suckling it like a child, swirling your tongue over the hard bit, nibbling the sides with your teeth, all this causing the Dancer to moan, the sound causing your cock twitch, aching for attention as it lays confined in your pants.

The Dancer rolls onto her back, watching with anticipation as you clamber onto her chest, her sultry, ever arousing moans growing in intensity when you hurridly remove your constricting garments, the vibrations making you tremble, but not because of the cold her body radiates. If anything, The Dancer's chilly flesh makes you even hornier, darkly curious as to how it feels.

She lifts her head to observe you spread your legs, heels pressing into her ribs as you take handfuls of her flesh, lining your already leaking member up before easing in. It is just as heavenly as you hoped, a groan escaping your lips as your cock vanishes into space between her cool mounds. 

The Dancer lays one arm behind her head, giving little coos and hums, the ticklish friction of your thrusts made better when she snakes her other slender limb to the space between her legs, gently running her finger over the outer edge of her lips. Meanwhile, you were rocking your hips, gyrating into her soft breasts as hard as you could, continuing to nip and lick her massive teats, slapping one and watching it jiggle, the faint outline of your hand remaining for a moment after.

She yelps, breath hitched, the sound of pain filling the darker part of your mind with satisfaction, pleased you had at last found her weakness. And so, you do it again, this time the Dancer moans, the pleasure within the sound driving you to do hit her tits again, and again and again, hands beating off her jiggling boobs like two big, squishy drums, while also continuing to pump your painfully hard cock in and out, slick now thanks to the pre that was leaking out of the slit, making the motions easier.

Your foe turned fucktoy writhes under you, the sight of this towering, ghostly reaper reduced to a cock hungry plaything sending tingles down your spine, so in no time at all, when that old, instinctual feeling begins to settle into your gut, you let out a almost feral sounding growl of delight, balls clenching as you pull back, one hand pumping your cock as it starts to throb, each pulse, which seems to be synched with the thudding of your heart followed by a strand of hot white cream being deposited on her chest.

She mewls in gratitude, smearing your warm gift into her skin, loving the way it makes her nerves dance, But she wants more, she needs more.

So pinching and tweaking one hard nip, she picks you up, laying you on the ground, pinned by two fingers holding your arms. 

You look up into her still helmeted face, wondering what she'd do next, the constant deaths you've experienced having honed your pain levels to inhuman highs, that and your ability to revive no matter how many deaths you faced meaning you could, and most likely will enjoy whatever she is about to do. 

Her intent soon becomes apparent when, with flexibility that seemed near impossible, she splays her legs out, her core, leaking a sticky, clear fluid, begins to lower, until its icy wetness is hovering less than an inch over your still hard cock. 

Her rumbling purr is the only warning you get before, with slow, yet sure precision, she sinks your cock all the way to the hilt inside, you rolling your eyes back in their sockets, the Dancer's size betraying the almost painful tightness her slick, cool walls has, hugging your every inch, squeezing and rubbing it, thanks to her complete mastery of every muscle within her body.

Her breath rattles, covering your upper body in little goosebumps as she begins to grind her hips, your shaft sliding in and out with ease, the wet shlick of her insides rub against the hot, hard meat only adding to the lewdness of it all. You, in heaven from how sweetly and gently The Dancer is pleasuring you, can do nothing but moan in bliss, trapped and helpless to her riding, lower-end drenched in the stream of cool juice her cunt continues to release.

The Dancer toys with one mound, cupping it, tugging and playing with the cum covered breast, her chilled, wavering huffs mixed with your hot and heavy grunts, arching your back up to meet her downward motions, balls slapping against her pussy, whole body, still sensitive from your first orgasm trembling. 

Little oos and ahhs trickle from The Dancer, loving how you throb within her, moving just firmly enough to feel good, but also keep from crushing you, not that you'd care at this point, so drunk upon her tight innards stimulating you better than any woman, she'd be free to do with you as she pleased. 

But alas, even with your enhanced stamina, you are incapable of holding back for long, tongue lolling out as you buck into The Dancer as hard as you could, panting and groaning, the sound music to her ears as she picks up the pace, leaning down so her titanic tits are covering your body, nothing but your head exposed, said head popping one juicy orb back into its mouth, moaning around the cold flesh as your body tenses. balls churning. 

Behind her mask, the Dancer had her eyes screwed shut, singing with euphoric delight when she feels your cock begin to releases its pent up frustration as deep as it could into her pussy, which milks it of every single drop it can, her unnatural mastery of her anatomy allowing her to drain you of all you can give. the balls deep cumming into her snatch lasting mere moments, yet feeling as though it was an hour. a full hour of unrivaled nirvana that leaves you utterly exhausted.

Giggling and purring, The Dancer rises, two fingers rubbing her leaking pussy, shivering happily from the tingly warmth within her body, looking down at you, spent and wet.

Her gaze turns to the entrance, then back to you. She does a twirl, exposing her plump cheeks, which jiggle enticingly. Remembering, you pick yourself up, hurrying over to your discarded pack, fishing out a small, golden yellow bottle. Taking a swig of its contents, you sigh as the fluid courses through your form, bringing energy back to your limbs.

The Dancer, both hands on the wall, lowers herself enough for you to take hold of her butt, spreading them apart to show her puckered teal hold, which is split by your cock, which drives into it without any hesitation. 

She rumbles in bliss, face pressed into the hard stone surface, groaning as you drive into her asshole with renewed vigor, one hand beating its open palm across her thick rump, the slaps and mewls of pleasure continuing for the better of the next hour.


	2. Hollow's

Your eyes squint from behind your helm, surveying the path ahead, road made of pale cobblestone, dotted with shuffling Hollow, either slowly walking in random directions or just standing there, swaying side to side, faces blank and empty. They were no challenge, you'd faced hundreds of Hollow, having killed them without much effort. They were easy to predict, even easier to trick.

The curse that reduced them to the monsters they were was horrid but in a strange way helpful. They were animals, behaving as such. Long dead, they cannot eat, nor do they sleep, they kill because the only other instinct left was to fuck, and many were so rotted such an action was impossible. But...Every now and then, you'd come across some fresher undead, ooo do you like those moments. 

There were five of them, three men and two women, humming in the backs of their throats as they staggered towards you. To most, being outnumbered would make them reconsider, but to you, it made your body tingle. 

Your halberd, stained by the black ichor that filled the body of the undead, is layed on the ground, followed by your helm, letting them see your smile, filled with hunger and excitement. Working on the various straps, you begin to remove piece after piece of your leather paddings, the Hollow watching, what little was left of their minds trying to make out what exactly you were up to, only for a spark to go off once your breasts, slick with sweat courtesy of your confining armor are brought to bear. 

The closest of them toss aside their rust-covered sword, surging forward with surprising speed, pouncing onto you and digging its bony fingers into your bosom flesh. It weighed little, you could easily knock it off should you so desire, but not now, not now. It rasps with dry, dead lungs, squeezing and mashing the soft mounds with glee, you giggling, letting out a little purr when the Hollow pinches one nipple, tweaking the bit until it grows hard. 

Another kneels by your head, grabbing fistfuls of your hair, you whining in delight from the sting. It hisses, cupping your jaw and applying pressure in an attempt to force it open, its already hot and hard girth poking against your lips, which part to allow its cock entry. 

You swirl your tongue over the head, give the tip little kisses whenever it pulls back, one hand pumping its saliva slick length, other having curled itself around the third Hollow's cock, which jabs into your neck, stroking it in time with its owners thrusts. The first of them meanwhile press your tits together, using them as cover for its own dick, which slides between them as it straddles your chest. 

So caught up are you in enjoying the triple assault, that when you feel the two female Hollow begin to strip away your leggings until your eager pussy, you wave your hips as much as you could invitingly. They both growl, one shoving two fingers inside without hesitation, the other flicking its tongue, dry and rough, over your already solid clit, bringing out a series of throaty groans of delight.

Loving how warm your tasty cunt is, the Hollow Girls take turns lavishing your slit with their hands and mouths, while their male counterparts use your upper half to pleasure themselves, not caring in the slightest how rough they are, you loving how they treat you like nothing but a plaything, mewling around the cock that continues to violate your throat.

In no time at all, the three males begin to quicken their pace, the one between your breasts, the starter of it all snarling as his leaking cock slides back and forth, over and over until with a guttural howl he starts emptying his load onto your chest, followed soon by his cohorts, one cumming in your hand, leaving it caked in warm white, the third gushing right into your gullet, salty and thick. 

It pulls out with a wet pop, looking down at your flushed face, which twitches as the two female Hollow continue to finger fuck you, pumping its digits in and out, each accompanied by a moist shlick. 

However, they aren't done, not by a long shot, for one Hollow Girl, shoving aside the male you sucked off, slings both legs over your neck, taking hold of your head and mashing its own wet pussy against your lips, which begin to work, tongue frantically probing the cunt that was humping your face, owner purring.

Remembering their companions, the second male Hollow moves behind the one nestled between your legs, busy suckling on your hood. He takes hold of her rump, pulling the cheeks apart before shoving his way into her own snatch, she rumbling in delight, the vibrations tickling your entrapped form, muffled noises of pleasure all you can produce, running quick counter-clockwise licks deep inside the Fem-Hollow, who is fondling the balls and cock of the third, the two sloppily making out. 

Left with little choice, the first resumes his fucking of your tits, now slick from his first load, not that he'd mind, cause your pillowy mounds feel fantastic around his cock.

Somewhere in the midst of this, the one eating you out is rewarded for all her hard work, your cry of release followed soon by a rush of hot fluid soaking her face, which never stops pumping its finger out of you, determined to get as much of your sweet quim as she could. 

You know not how long it lasted, frankly you could care less if it never ended, even as your whole head is drenched from Hollow pussy juice, jaw aching from how much its been working, chest painted with one load after another from the Undead so in love with your boobs. 

By the time they finally decide stop, less because they were tired and more so because they knew you were, the two girls are leaking copious amounts of semen from their ravished holes, the ones who filled them up with their glistening cocks flaccid, and you covered in their love, satisfied and full.


	3. Crossbreed Priscilla

"Who art thou?" The voice whispers, soft yet strong. You stare up at the speaker, looming nearly three times your height, the snow-white fur she was covered with billowing in the frigid breeze, her silvery locks framing a pale human face, above the eyebrows two small lines of light blue scales, her eyes slitted and yellow, much like a serpent.

In her hands she clutches a scythe almost as long as she was tall, the crescent moon blade glittering in the waxy moonlight. Her gaze is locked on you, holding the Scythe with familiarity, taking a step forward, the motion graceful and calculated, the flakes of snow that were always falling from the sky seeming to bend away, as if they themselves were afraid of touching this ethereal creature. 

"One of us, thou art not." She states, "If thou has misstepped into this world, plunge down the plank." She aims one slender finger to the edge of the cliff, dropping into the black chasm snow disappeared into, for a moment twirling above the darkness, little twinkling white specks, looking so much like the starry night sky that every now and then peaked from behind the cloudy grey sky.

She turns back to you, "But if thou seekest I, thine desires shall be requited not." She remains where she stands, keeping her predatory eyes firmly planted on you, watching every single movement you make

"I do not seek thy, for I know little of you, least of all thy name." You say after a beat of silence. "I am Priscilla, Daughter of the Everlasting Dragon Seath the Scaleless." Is her reply. "I beg you, returneth from whence thou came. This land is peaceful, its inhabitants kind." You cannot hold back the scornful laugh barked out, "Peaceful? Kind? Such words are not suitable descriptions for this realm." 

Priscilla nods, "Sayeth what thou will, but still, I implore thee to leave, for thy own sake if not else." You shrug, looking around the room, "Whereth would I go? What reason would I be here, if not an exile?" The Crossbreed frowns, "For what crime, may I ask?" You shake your head, "No crime unless thy consider being Undead an offense. My world," You clench a fist, "Destroyed, broken. Darkness spreads, its cold touch claiming the lives of all who dare cross its path."

"Thy world is gone? The outside no more?" She sounds genuinely shocked. "Aye, the Flame dies, the Age of Fire at an end. Hollow run rampant, the Abyss swells, what few left hunted and consumed. No place remains safe, I chose here, for there is nowhere else to go."

"Then, what shall thy do?" You again shrug, "That, knoweth I not. I am without purpose, the curse, held at bay by my desire to live alone. Thou is different from other's I met, thou is not of this world either." 

"Nay, I am an exile, banished, but for what reason I can no longer recall." Her grip on her weapon slackens, before she sets it down, barefooted legs folding underneath as she sits. Gesturing with one hand, Priscilla offers you to rest at her side.

Nodding in gratitude, you seat yourself nex to the Crossbreed, removing your helm, shivering at the cold breeze when it touches your skin. "How long have thou been here?" You ask. Priscilla taps her round jaw, "I can not say. Many moons have passed, long since have I ceased to care. Arimas is my home, I defend it even now, in its sorry state." 

"What has happened here?" Now she brings her fur covered shoulders up and down, "What of the outside world?" Priscilla questions, her gentle sigh of a voice echoing like a ghost. 

"I awoke within an asylum, the undead are herded into these prisons, where they are to await the end, but a knight, his name Oscar, saved me." You lower your head, "He, as brave and selfless as he was, did not live long. A demon, born of the Flame of Chaos, slew Oscar before me, the warrior using what little strength he had to kill the beast in turn. If not for him, I may never arrived, I may have remained trapped till the First Flame burns its last."

"I...." Priscilla starts, "I hope this Oscar found peace in death, for he did not have to witness the end of the world." You offer a humorless smile, "Precisely my thoughts." You then offer your own question, "Why are thou here, for what crime has thee committed?" She chuckles, the sound like a passing breeze. "Being born was the sin I am guilty of. The Gods fear me, I am the child of a Dragon, their most sworn enemy, but also the offspring of their own. I am a god, I am a Dragon, I am both, for that reason they quiver before the power they claim I posses." 

"Well," You say, "Worry yourself of the gods no more, for they are all dead." "Truly?" A nod, "Aye, to that, I personally saw happen." Priscilla giggles softly, "Forgive me, but such a thought seems unlikely, a mere undead having slain a god." You let out a scoff, "Looks can be deceiving, Priscilla." 

"I suppose they can."

You both sit in silence for a bit, said quiet ending when something brushes against your wrist. You look down, finding, to your great surprise and amusement, that it was a long, furry tail, Priscilla's tail.

She peers down at you, "Oh, forgive me." You wave one hand, "No, no. It's fine." You trail your fingers along the appendage, which twitches at the contact. "I...I..." The Crossbreed tries, but whatever she has to say dies on her lips when you rub the flat of your thumb over her tail's blunt tip. The thing is soft, her fur clean and silky, underneath it layers of muscle, all thicker than your arm. 

It is also warm, warm like a thick wool blanket, a welcome sensation in this world of frost and snow. Priscilla bites the inside of her cheek, the fingers of her right hand digging into the snow, left one gripping her knee as you wrap both arms around the fluffy tail. "Soft." You murmur. "Thou art the first creature to have any warmth within them." 

"Th-Then," Priscilla stutters, "Enjoy it." So caught up are you in massaging her tail you fail to note the waver in her gentle voice. It isn't until when you begin to tickle the underside that Priscilla lets out a soft whine. You look up into her golden eyes, her pale face now flushed a deep red. "Priscilla?" You ask. "Please." She whispers back, "Don't stop." 

Slowly does a grin spread across your face, cheek nuzzling into her tail, rubbing and kissing it. Priscilla brings one palm up to cover her eyes, head rolled back. Feeling a little bold, you bring the tip up to your lips, giving the very end a little peck, tongue snaking out to flick over the sides. She sighs, swooning, leaning and falling onto back. The is a loud thud, followed by a cloud of snow being tossed into the air.

You giggle, placing both hands onto her side, clambering to seat yourself on her furry chest, the heat her body radiates making you rather instinctively grind your hips. She lifts her head, purring softly, the noise vibrating your whole body, watching with eager eyes as you begin to undress, a surprised yelp leaving you when Priscilla grips you, arms pressed to your sides, lifting your up towards her mouth.

She, smiling hungrily, whispers a sentence that makes you tremble all over. "I hope you are ready." And then she lowers you right onto her awaiting mouth, your eyes being blown wide when her tongue runs along the entirety of your wet slit. You shudder, squirming in her unbreakable grasp, Priscilla continuing to trails up and down, warm and wet as she flicks the tip over your hard nub before suckling on your hood.

A soft coo escapes you, head rolling in her grasp, legs splayed out on her mouth, which works slowly but surely, tongue thrusting in and out, this combined with the scraping of her teeth on your inner thighs making your nerves dance. 

"a-ahh!" You gasp, peering down and glimpsing her eyes alight with desire, probing organ pushing aside your labia to poke at your clit, each little jab making you twitch, whining, breath heavy and deep. Her own exhales are just as aroused, using a thumb to rub your mound as she inserts herself as deep as she can, wiggling around inside, seeking out your every weak point to make your eyes water.

Unable to anything save just give in and enjoy, you do so, heels digging into her cheeks, wave after wave of delight washing over you, skin prickling despite the cold. Priscilla folds her tongue, returning attention to your nub, pinching it between two teeth to really make you sing for her, and sing you do, mouth in a perfect O shape as the Crossbreed runs gentle laps over your entirety, this more than enough the bring about your undoing, head thrashing side to side, mewling and shuddering.

Priscilla keeps her wonderous tongue swirling around within, easing you through the flood of euphoria that makes little spots dance in the corners of your eyes, letting the release soak her chin and lips. When at last it ends, she removes herself from you with a wet pop. smacking her lips, liking the tart flavor your orgasm has. Already tired from the long journey that brought you here, cumming all over Priscilla's face sapped what little energy you had left, so when she lets go, all you do is curl up in a ball of her warm, fuzzy chest, she draping one arm that covers your whole body, using the finger of her other to stroke your head as you drift to sleep.


	4. Aldrich

"Ah, my little Sun." The velvety smooth drawl echoed. Gwyndolin fidgeted with the hem of his robe, not knowing where to look, for the speaker had no eyes with which to see, yet was able to view the Dark Moon God from a multitude of angles. 

The ground under Gwyndolin was soft, pliable. His bare feet sank a bit, shivering as the cool, oily sludge ran over his pale skin. "Always so bright, like a twinkling star." The floor vibrates with each word spoken, seemingly coming from every direction. "So very intoxicating, the scent of your fear." The black fluid burbles and pops, retracting to pile itself up into a mound, still, enough of it was left to cover everything.

"Come to me." The voice drops into a barely audible hiss that made Gwyndolin feel his hair stand on end. Still, he steps forward, the sludge sticking to his soles, wiggling and shaking as though it had a mind of its own. 

The mound looms overhead, shifting, roiling, from its black surface the Dark Moon can see his own fearful reflection, broken by the remnants of those enveloped by this being before him. 

Without being told, The God reaches out, laying his hand upon it, the goo curling around his fingers, stroking and rubbing the skin, shaking, rumbling. "Ah, your skin is soft, so frail yet supple. I can almost taste you, little Sun." A tendril slithers free, cupping his jaw, brushing of thin, pale lips, which part in eagerness. The cold appendage, flavor heavy and vaguely metallic, dances along Gwyndolin's inner cheek, counting each tooth before going limp to allow him the chance to suckle on it like a newborn.

"Good, so very good." Aldrich purrs, more of the infinite, dark sea that was his body reaching out, taking hold of his prey limbs, sneaking past his robe to trail across his body, leaving wet lines behind, making little bumps cover his skin, pulling him close, strength beyond anything natural. Gwyndolin does not protest when they begin to pull at the cloth, tearing it away in tatters to expose him to the frigid air.

Not that it'd matter if he did, for when Aldrich wanted something, he'd get it. 

Another tentacle plays its feathery tip over the shell of his ear, a third dips into his stomach, giving a poke that makes Gwyndolin jolt back. 

Aldrich hums in amusement, "What is wrong, God of the Dark Sun?" His voice is laced sarcastic glee, tracing random shapes and letters into his quarries flank, which jerks in a vain attempt to get away. 

"Nnng" Gwyndolin grits his teeth, trying and failing to contain a weak, bubbling titter. "Oh, ticklish, aren't we?"

Aldrich slows his touch to crawl, "You have such a sweet laugh, I could toy with you until you are howling for mercy." One tentacle slinks around Gwyndolin's neck, constricting his airway so that the next breath is nothing but a ragged gasp. 

The Devourer of Gods lets out a chortle, watching as his toys eyes bulge, too busy trying to breathe he barely registers when Aldrich trails down, down, down, until he is brushing himself over Gwyndolin's erection, which twitches as the cold, slimy length curls around the base, giving a few tormentingly slow strokes, wriggling the tip of another over his weeping slit, playing with the glands, making Gwyndolin squirm.

A few more cup his heavy eggs, smooth and round, juggling the two while drawing across the Gods scrotum. 

"So much pent up frustration." The endless, booming rumble that was Aldrich taunts, reeling back before lashing out, so fast that the air cracks, followed by the harsh connection of the tentacle on Gwyndolins bare bottom, watching with amusement as the snowy skin blushes a deep red. 

Gwyndolin lets out a gasp, biting his lip. "Oh, I am sorry." Aldrich hums, "Did that hurt?" He chuckles darkly, using two tendrils to gently massage his toys rear, their cool touch easing the sting. 

Meanwhile, the ones working over his cock keep him on edge, pulling him open, extending to a hair-thin point that plays with the inside of his length, tickling his prostate, causing the God writhe, face a grimace, but his eyes, his lovely eyes, alight with pleasure, hips bucking forward, poking into Aldrichs mass, slick and cold.

"Desperate, so very needy." Aldrich spreads himself out, pulling Gwyndolin closer, slithering to encase his body, nothing but his head left exposed, mouth agape, tongue lolling out like a dog in heat, feeling his gelatinous form cover his dick, vibrating up and down it oh so sweetly, sucking on his testicles, pinching his nipples and rubbing them until they are erect.

Little pseudopods latch cups onto them. like the lips of a breastfeeding babe, but best of all, what Gwyndolin wanted Aldrich to do from the start, was when he feels the Saint of the Deep pull his buttocks apart, running a thick, bulbous head around his hole, toying with his entrance before easing himself in, Gwyndolin clenching down on every inch that parts his asshole, burning delightfully, going so deep his swears he can sense it within his colan.

"Oooo." The God mewls like a virgin maiden, no matter how many times he experienced this sensation, of being filled, filled to the bursting, pleasured from every possible angle, leaving him breathless and exhausted and craving for more, got old.

Every night spent untouched by this sentient abyss, a being of pure darkness, when it finally arrived, this moment making his eyes roll wetly, panting, huffing as Aldrich maps out his insides, hugs and strokes his painfully hard erection, toying with the urethra, the pain and pleasure so intense Gwyndolin could not tell the difference between the two.

"A-AH!" He moans, vision blurry from the tears that bead in the corner's of his eyes. Something presses itself against his lips, which accept the probing tentacle, slithering deep into him, tip going down his throat, even as he gags instictivly, the walls of his throat pulsing in an attempt to expel the intrusion, which shudders from the massage given.

A tiny little cup pinches the Gods nose, allowing air to be drawn in from the nostrils, muffled groans ebbing and flowing, rising in pitch with each passing moment.

Gwyndolin cannot think, cannot move, cannot do anything but sob in wonderous bliss, whole body alight, nerves tingling, sweat giving his flushed red face a light sheen.

"I could just gobble you up, I think you'd like that." Aldrich rumbles. "You'd enjoy anything I do to you, you filthy little excuse for a god."

Gwyndolin responds with another moan. "Pathetic creature, disgusting, vile beast. My vile beast."

He swirls the tentacle within the Gods ass while also pumping his cock back and forth, this being more than enough to send Gwyndolin, screaming like a child, over the edge, the ropes of burning hot ejaculation being sucked right out of him, cock throbbing in time to his madly pulsating heart, Aldrich absorbing every drop shot out, purring happily.

"Delicous." He growls.

He keeps his jerking of the Gods dick up until the very end, leaving Gwyndolin feeling utterly drained, even though they both knew Aldrich would not be satisfied with one load.

No, his hunger was insatiable, so when he starts thrusting in and out of his prey again, resuming the stroking of the Gods still hard member, Gwyndolin moans weakly, his protest going ignored, for Aldrich wanted more, and more he shall get, no matter how much Gwyndolin begged him to stop, partly because he did not care and also because Gwyndolin, though he'd never admit it, hoped this would never end.


	5. Chapter 5

"The night." Gehram wheezed, falling back to lay splayed out amongst the delicate white flowers, those closest to him with a deep shaded red dripping from their petals. 

"And the dream...." His wrinkled face relaxes, energy spent, muscles sore, too much blood gone to continue. 

"Were....long." He inhales deep and then breathes no more. 

You stand over him, not knowing what to feel. Your own heart thudding, still excited from the duel just ended, weapon clutched so hard in one hand that you'd need the strength of ten men to pry it loose. 

The moon hung over the starry night sky, radiant orange, bathing the land in its ethereal red glow. 

You turn to gaze upward at the Blood Moon, allow its light to wash away your pain and despair. 

Still gripped hard enough to break someone's arm, your greatsword pulses, the cyan power within its core pulsating in sync to the golden flares that bolt across the sky above, almost like the holy blade were speaking to the moon itself, conversing with its original creator. 

But then, The Moonlight blade goes dark, it had said enough. 

Just like blinking, a new object is there amongst the black, a flitting shadow that hovered in front of the moon, as though it came from it. 

This presence descends, wreathed in filaments of red and yellow, lowering from the heavens like God himself, the hole in the center of its head, be it the creatures eye, mouth or both pointed right at you, frozen in fear and awe, unable to choose whether to look at the multitude of thick tendrils that cascade down its back like hair, each waving in slow, methodic motions, to the hands, spindly, nothing but flesh covered bones, still many times bigger than your whole body, to the legs bent at inhuman angles as it crawls toward you, crushing bundles of flowers with each step. 

Flora hums and clicks, admiring the scene, impressed by the show of strength just witnessed, extending one paw to cup your backside, giving a little nudge, head lowered to show she meant no harm.

That did little to ease your fear, anyone in their right mind would be filled with terror at the sight before them, gazing up that which was truly alien, the stomach of the creature emptied and hollow, ribs flexing like dozens of arms, spine jutting out on full display. 

Yet still, you wonder what her glistening, burgundy red hide felt like, fingers tracing along the oval curve of Flora's head, which vibrates in pleasure. 

Proud of yourself, you toy with the thick, crimson meat of the lip, whatever was in her head squishy and cool, like jelly. 

She, gentle as a being of her size and strength could ever hope to be, Flora tears your clothing to tatters, careful to not damage your supple flesh. Her many tendrils stroke across your body, amused at the flinches caused by poking at a certain few areas. 

Flora lifts you up, cradled in one hand, running two feathery tips in slow, torturous circles around you nipples, perked from the cold night air. 

Another dance along your lips, which gives the organ sweet, loving kisses, fingers still kneading into her body, which trembles with a deep purr that bordered on the edge of human hearing.

You let out your own sound of enjoyment, watching as Flora leans down to nuzzle her empty hollow of a face against your groin, watching enthralled as your cock slowly rises to attention due to the tentacle that had started to toy with the head, trailing over your glands, cupping your heavy balls and juggling them softly. 

You sigh with lust, relaxing further and further into the Great One's embrace, the heat making your skin prickle, nerves dancing on razor-thin edges. She wraps herself around your base, giving a few slow, sensual pumps up and down, flicking another over your already leaking slit. 

Moaning and whimpering at the pleasure you were being subjugated too, it is almost unnoticed when The Moon Presence takes hold of your rump, pulling the cheeks apart so a thick, bulbous tendril can prod at your hole. 

So drunk on the loving touch of this goddess, you eagerly nod in approval, gritting your teeth with eyes rolling in their sockets once you are breached, the hot, solid object sliding deep into your body, retracting to the very tip only to be rammed back in full force. 

Each slap of her tentacle as it violates your asshole sends tingles of bliss up and down your back, which arches when Flora begins to jerk you off vigorously, humping upward into the object tracing itself over each bulging vein, dipping the tip inside so it may tickle your urethra. The sharp sting of pain only made everything else better, a dopey, stupid grin on your face as you suckle on the rod that was deepthroating you.

It tasted sharp and heavy, like spiced meat, wriggling its way past your teeth to make your jaw ache wonderfully, whole body alight with ecstasy, a lump of putty for the Goddess to play with.

In no time at all you were shivering, body tensing, a deep burning within your gullet, which explodes so violently that stars dance in the corners of your eyes, strands of hot white fluid being discharged directly into her gaping maw, the wet slurps she makes by far the sexiest noise you ever heard

Flora eases you through your orgasm, the thrusts in your rear having slowed to a crawl as she tenderly strokes your cheek, expressing gratitude for the meal you gave her. 

Utterly drained, you make no fuss as she wraps you up in her tentacles, formed into a warm, smooth bed for you to nap upon, underneath the Pale Blooded Moon. 


End file.
